A Tribute to E. Lynn Harris
“Uhm, excuse me, Ashley, he is only twenty-two years old,” I practically yell into the phone. “Besides, I am through with men. Done. Finished. Work is my new love. My new man.” I begin biting my bottom lip.
“Chase, you think just because you’re the Vice President of Production for GBS Television that you don’t have needs?” Ashley says facetiously. “Vice presidents have sex, too.”
“I am not thinking about him. He is just a boy,” I say, but I am lying through my teeth. I swivel in my black executive chair and stare out into the New York skyline. My corner office has the perfect view overlooking Times Square.
“Whatever. And stop biting your bottom lip,” Ashley says.
“What are you talking about?” I put my hand over my mouth and look around my office.
“I know you are biting your bottom lip. You do it every time you are nervous or excited. And I know that intern is working you over.”
“Nobody is working anything. He is too young. And the operative word is INTERN!”
“Who cares?” Ashley snickers. “You’re both adults. What does age have to do with anything?”
“I am a professional, and I am sixteen years his senior. How would that look? Me fraternizing with an intern in my department. I have no interest or desire in sleeping with a young man. This is ridiculous. I am not in high school, or college,” I bark.
“All I’m saying is that you got needs and no man is meeting yours. I am sure you could use a good man to lay hands on your third leg and bless your boy coochie, amen,” Ashley laughs. “How long has it been anyway?”